Johnlock, Dinner Date
by strayMongrel
Summary: Small part of the 30 Day challenge that I forgot about. Sherlock takes John out to dinner, but John doesn't think it counts.


"Sherlock, this doesn't count as 'dinner'."

"No?" Sherlock leaned around the corner, watching Lestrade at a crime scene. "Well, we'll get there, John."

"When? You're just spying on Lestrade now. How are you going to get from that to dinner?"

The detective merely looked at him and turned back to Lestrade as the man knelt down by the body. He watched as the calloused fingers twitched at his pocket, almost grabbing the phone that Sherlock knew was there. He walked right up to them and knelt beside the DI, looking at the body. "Worked at a diner, aged about … 25. Asphyxiation most likely."

"Sherlock! What are you doing here? I didn't call you!"

"On the way to eat with John, and you looked like you needed aid."

"Oh cut the bullshit. You heard about this, didn't you?"

"No, honestly I just saw you here."

John sighed and joined the two men. "Believe it or not, Lestrade, he's telling the truth. He's just being a dick, as usual."

Lestrade frowned. "I shouldn't be as surprised as I am."

Sherlock sighed. "John, tell me what this man suffocated from."

"Not even a 'please,' Sherlock?" The doctor knelt by his...boyfriend? He didn't know what they were, to be honest.

"John..." he warned.

With a sigh, the doctor leaned over the body, checking his neck then the back of his throat. "No signs of strangulation or forced feeding." He took a quick whiff of the mouth. "But he smells of ammonia. Perhaps suicide?"

"Suicide in an alley? No, no. This is much bigger. Something a bit more."

Lestrade sighed impatiently. "A bit more? Sherlock, there's a man dead. I don't think you can get 'a bit more' than that!"

John shook his head, his patience already worn thin. "Either you know something, or you don't. This is you, we're talking about, so I think you know something."

Sherlock frowned. "Of course I know something, John. This man did not commit suicide. No, it can not be that simple. Nothing is that simple."

He sighed and stood up. "Then you figure it out." The doctor had been hoping for a relaxing evening with his...with Sherlock. "I, for one, am hungry. Since you have a case, I guess I'll be eating by myself."

"No, I'll be along in a moment." Sherlock looked at the man's hands before getting up. "I'll be in touch, Lestrade." He stood and led John down the street, the doctor only following because he hoped that this meant food.

In fact, it did. Sherlock lead him to a nearby diner, and, even though they just looked at a dead man, they washed their hands and sat down to eat. Even Sherlock ordered food, though it wasn't much.

But John knew something was up. Sherlock had a case to work on, yet the man was eating. "Sherlock..."

The man looked at a forkful of his food. "Yes, John?"

"What's going on?"

He frowned. "Is this not ok? You wanted to go out to eat."

"No, this is fine, but what's going on? You have a case, yet you're..."

"John, this is the diner the man was working at. I thought we could eat and solve a case at the same time."

"You think the case will be that simple to solve in a matter of hours?"

Sherlock nodded and took a bite to prove his point.

John sighed with a small smile and a shake of his head before they fell into a few minutes of silence. That silence was broken when Sherlock got up and walked into the back to look for a few things. What, the doctor wasn't sure, but he wasn't about to move. He was enjoying himself just sitting there and enjoying a meal. Or he had been until Sherlock left. Was a simple date too much for him to ask, a simple sit-down-and-eat? But after a while, John got up. Sherlock was taking too long, and he wanted to know why.

John walked to the kitchens, frowning as he didn't see the detective there. He thought that he was over the "leave John behind" nonsense, but Sherlock was leaving him behind again like old times. He sighed and turned around to pay the check. He had just handed the steward his card when he felt the hand on his back.

"John."

"Jesus Christ, Sherlock! Where the bloody hell did you go?"

"Just around back." The tall man turned. "Come on. I believe you were right about something."

"Me? Being right?" John walked with Sherlock as he led the doctor to the back alley.  
"Possibly, yes."


End file.
